Love is Not Proud
by Dark3Star
Summary: Gregory is hurt in the line of duty, and Mycroft has questions.


**I would like to thank everyone for their support and encouragement in reviewing, favoritng, and following this and other stories in this series. ^_^ It means a lot to me.**

**This is the third in a series of one-shots, which takes place in my "Falling" verse. This takes place after "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," has completed. These one-shots can be read individually, or as part of the larger series. I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

Love is Not Proud

Mycroft resisted the childish urge to drum his fingers impatiently on the table before him. His meeting with the delegation from Germany had been, as the Germans would say, _uber langweilig_. He continued to maintain, however, that boring was better than interesting. When things became interesting in his line of work, people usually died.

The British Government scribbled some notes on the paper before him, determined not to be distracted either by tedium or the thought of Gregory waiting at home for him. Mycroft had found that thoughts of the Detective Inspector surfaced more often these days, and maintaining a straight face required more than its usual effort. Smiling in a distracted, besotted way during long meetings was generally considered to be rude.

At that moment his personal assistant and top agent, Anthea, strode determinedly into the room. Like Mycroft, she was the picture of poise and control. However, the very fact that she'd bothered to interrupt his meeting _at all_ was deeply unsettling. She would only interrupt this meeting for something truly serious.

"Here are the files you requested, sir. My apologies that I could not get them to you sooner." Her voice was calm as she handed him a small stack of papers in a thin manila envelope.

Mycroft, on full alert, nodded in a carefully disinterested fashion, and lazily accepted the files. Anthea nodded once, then strode away from him, her spine perfectly straight. Despite her immaculate appearance, Anthea normally adopted a slight slouch. This served two functions. First, it could be mistaken for fatigue so as to lure opponents into a false sense of security, and second, it helped her disguise her true height from a casual observer. Mycroft had only ever seen her forgo this small deceit in the direst of circumstances, when no attention could be spared for casual misdirection.

Mycroft slowly opened the folder in front of him. The first page of the folder contained a brief outline of the treaty that was currently under negotiation. It was something Mycroft could easily reference/edit during the meeting; not that he needed to. He scribbled a short, meaningless note in the top left corner about Marcus Breiner's budgetary concerns. That being done, he trailed his fingers slowly down the length of the page.

It was a simple and invaluable trick that Mycroft's team often used to communicate with each other. It fulfilled three essential functions. First, it was easy to understand. Second, it was easy to destroy quickly. And third, it was difficult for outside parties to crack their code. Anyone else in the meeting would think that Mycroft was scanning the page, looking for talking points. He _was_ reading, just not what was on the first page. Beneath that first page was a blank piece of paper with Braille lettering.

The message read simply, "Come at once."

A chill prickled along Mycroft's spine. _Again_ there was an urgency that was normally unwarranted. Whatever had happened, it was most certainly dire.

Slowly closing the folder, Mycroft folded his hands beneath his chin and interlocked his fingers. "Mr. Petrikov makes an excellent point," he interrupted the other delegate gently, but authoritatively. "A point, I fear, we cannot give adequate attention tonight. I suggest we let the matter rest for this evening, and resume discussion tomorrow with clear heads."

He stood, not giving the others a chance to protest. "I will see you again tomorrow morning at 8:00am. Thank you again for your continued efforts in this joint endeavor."

As soon as Mycroft turned to go, his staff appeared to offer dignitaries their coats, and suggest refreshments at the Diogenes club.

Anthena met Mycroft outside; his Bentley was already waiting. The door had barely closed before they were speeding on their way. Mycroft turned his gaze on his pensive assistant, waiting for an explanation. After two full minutes of silence, it became clear that none was forthcoming. He leaned towards her, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "Anthea?"

She took a slow, shaky breath that sounded wet with unshed tears. This, more than anything else, gave Mycroft pause. He'd only ever seen this remarkable woman cry _twice_. "We're going to St. Barts. Sherlock and John are already there." Mycroft opened his mouth to ask for further clarification when she whispered, "Greg's been shot."

* * *

He was lead swiftly to a small waiting room, near the surgical suites on the third floor. John and Sherlock sat close together, holding hands, and looking unbearably somber. His brother looked up when Mycroft entered, and the British Government read the whole story on his face.

There had been a case, obviously. John's rumbled, unshaven appearance suggested a stakeout; even on long cases the good doctor normally insisted on showering. They had been trying to apprehend the criminal in question when it had all gone wrong. Things had escalated quickly and, given the bloody bandage tied tightly to Sherlock's forearm, he'd tried to intervene. Given that his brother had been unsuccessful in that intervention, the perpetrator must have been high on stimulants, probably methamphetamines. There were few people who could outmatch his brother's unusual strength, unless they were unnaturally large or 'medicinally' assisted. Sherlock had been grazed while trying to stop the gunman from firing; trying to _save _Gregory.

Mycroft took a seat beside his brother. He reached for Sherlock's free hand and squeezed it. "It's not your fault." Sherlock squeezed his hand in return, but his lips were tight and bloodless.

"Greg's still in surgery," John murmured. Of course, that was obvious, but Mycroft let him continue. There was nothing to do at this point, but wait. "They think the bullet missed his heart, but he was shot in the chest."

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment against that unwanted piece of information. _Gregory had been shot in the chest_. At length he managed to nod, and fixed his gaze on the door, waiting for the doctor.

* * *

Thirty minutes before Mycroft suspected they could reasonably expect to hear anything about Gregory's condition, he heard running footsteps in the hallway. The sound of their gait told Mycroft to expect two adults and four children. A small boy was the first through the door. He had bright blue eyes and close cropped blond hair. He was small for his age. He appeared to be eight, but, from Gregory's descriptions of his nephew, Mycroft knew Alexander to be ten years of age, almost eleven.

"Where's Uncle Greg?!" Alex cried, he gaze darting around the room. His body language was calm, but his eyes shimmered with tears and his voice sounded strangled.

Mycroft stood at once, and knelt before the child. "Gregory is still in surgery. The doctors will come speak to us about him in approximately thirty minutes."

"Will we be able to see him then?" It was part question and part demand.

"Hopefully we will be, but I cannot be certain," Mycroft replied. Alexander had remarkable control for a child. He did not cry, but instead looked sourly up into Mycroft's eyes. "You're Mycroft?"

"I am." Mycroft was mildly stunned when the child threw himself against his chest, wrapping slim arms around his neck. Mycroft returned the embrace and, when Alexander showed no signs of letting go, stood with the boy in his arms.

The rest of Alexander's family had now arrived. Mycroft had not yet met them, but he knew them all from Gregory's descriptions. There was Gregory's sister, Sarah; a short woman with thick chestnut hair and the Detective Inspector's warm brown eyes. Beside her stood her husband, Anthony. He stood a solid six feet tall with short black hair and dark brown eyes. Just in front of them stood their three daughters. Their eldest was Katherine. She had light brown hair that fell to her elbows, and blue eyes that matched Mycroft's. Beside her were the twins, Nichole, and Coraline. Each had shoulder length black hair and the dark brown eyes of their father. Nichole was slender, and required glasses. Coraline carried more weight than her sister, rounding out the curves of her body. Mycroft was reminded very much of himself at her age.

"You are the Langley family, I presume?" Mycroft asked softly, turning aside so that they could all properly enter the room.

Sarah, as bold as her brother, stepped forward and hugged Mycroft. Her arms also encompassed her son, who was nestled quite firmly against Mycroft's side. "Hello, Mycroft. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. Greg talks about you all the time."

Mycroft swallowed. "Hello Mrs. Langley."

She pulled back with a sly grin. "Call me Sarah, please."

Mycroft nodded, "Sarah. It is a pleasure to meet you, your husband Anthony, and your children Katherine, Nichole, and Coraline." Mycroft looked at each person in turn as he greeted them. Coraline and Nichole wore twin expressions of surprise, while Katherine grinned smugly up at him.

"You're just as sharp as Greg said you would be," Anthony murmured.

"Gregory also speaks frequently of your family," Mycroft said, by way of explanation.

"Let's sit down," Sarah insisted, slowly herding everyone towards the chairs along the wall. Alexander still refused to let go of Mycroft, but did allow himself to be seated on Mycroft's lap. It was the gravity of the situation only, which kept Sherlock from making a smart comment about Mycroft carrying children around on his hip.

Mycroft was seated with Sherlock to his left, and most of the Langley family to his right. Alexander remained on his lap, and Coraline seated herself cross-legged on the ground between Sherlock and Mycroft's legs. There weren't enough chairs for everyone, and Mycroft was about to ask John to request more, when a small hand on his knee drew his attention down to Coraline. Her expression was gentle, and filled with concern as she asked, "Will Uncle Greg be okay, Uncle Mycroft?"

The title stunned him. It stunned him more than when Gregory had asked to begin a relationship with him. He had _never_ expected to be welcomed so readily by a family he'd never before laid eyes on… The Detective Inspector must have spoken of him _quite_ often indeed. He placed one hand gently over hers, warming her small fingers. "I hope so, Coraline. I hope so." The girl nodded once, and then rested her head against his leg.

The doctor arrived exactly thirty-seven minutes later. He was a thin, dour man with thick round spectacles over his eyes. His name tag declared him to be 'Steven Phillips, M.D.' Everyone stood and looked at Dr. Phillips expectantly.

"How is my brother, doctor?" Sarah asked, taking a few steps forward.

Dr. Phillips eyes narrowed as he took in the small crowd. "I prefer to speak only to immediate family, miss."

John's weight shifted, and Mycroft thought he was about to leave when Sarah spoke again. "_Everyone_ here is immediate family." Her voice was quiet and full of steel. She glared directly at Dr. Phillips, never breaking eye contact. Apparently, Sarah was every bit as stubborn as her brother.

The doctor sighed quietly. "We were able to remove the bullet with minimal complications. Luckily, it did not strike anything of importance. He may experience some muscle weakness in his left shoulder and arm, but this should dissipate with time and exercise." The tension in the room notably decreased.

"When can we see him?" Sarah asked, her tone insistent.

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "We typically don't let this many people into the ICU for visits—"

"Then I thank you in advance for your flexibility," Sarah cut him off, glaring at him. Her body had tensed again; she was obviously ready to bring down all kinds of hell if she received _any_ resistance whatsoever.

Their staring contest ended in a brief, reluctant nod from Dr. Phillips. "He's still recovering from surgery; he's going to be very groggy."

Sarah nodded determinedly. "That's fine."

The doctor hesitated a moment before turning to lead them back to Gregory's room. They children, bubbling over with excitement and nervous energy, led the way.

Alexander was the first person in Gregory's room. He cried out, "Uncle Greg!"and lept towards the prone form. His elder sister, Katherine, grabbed his hand and prevented him from actually vaulting onto the bed.

Gregory opened his eyes at once, turning his head towards his nieces and nephew. "Hey guys," he murmured, his voice breathy with sleep. He caressed the side of Alexander's cheek, smiling fondly at the children. "Sorry to worry you," he added as his gaze swept up to meet his sister's.

"You're not allowed to do this again," Katherine insisted, pointing an insistent finger at her Uncle.

Greg's eyes crinkled with warmth as he smiled down at his niece. "I'll do my best, love," he promised, before pulling her into a hug. Alexander leaned into the embrace as well, encompassed by Gregory's long arm. The twins followed their siblings, each group being careful to approach only his right side.

Sarah's eyes were tearful, but her voice was calm as she whispered, "Do I get a hug too?"

The Detective Inspector blinked sheepishly at her, and opened his arms once more. "Of course, sis."

With her face pressed against her brother's, she whispered, "You pull something like this again, and a bullet will be the least of your worries."

Gregory chuckled. "I'll make sure to explain that to the next crazy person who tries to shoot me."

Sarah pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead as she pulled away. "Be sure that you do."

Anthony squeezed in beside his wife, and clasped Gregory on the shoulder. "You gave us quite the scare, mate."

Greg mustered enough coordination to arch an eyebrow at his brother-in-law. "You don't say." They both chuckled and fell into a proper hug.

Sherlock and John approached next, the others pulling back to make way for them. Greg leveled Sherlock with a serious look. "How's your arm?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's been worse."

"That was a very stupid and dangerous thing you did, Sherlock. We could have both been killed," Greg continued.

Sherlock shrugged again. "I am given to understand that stupid and dangerous are things I excel at."

Greg's lips quirked into a wry smile, and he shook his head. "You can add bravery and loyalty to that list too, you know." Greg reached forward, grabbed Sherlock's wrist, and pulled him down into a hug. Sherlock, for once, went willingly.

John followed his husband, slipping into Greg's arms and Sherlock slipped out of them. "I'm glad you're okay, mate," John murmured.

Greg quirked an eyebrow at the good doctor. "After what I put up with from your husband? Please, I'm tougher than that."

John chuckled as he pulled back. "You'll be able to get back to work in six weeks or so." He glanced over his shoulder at the elder Holme's brother and grinned. "That is, if Mycroft lets you go back."

Gregory's gaze found Mycroft's at last, and his smile was like the sun unexpectedly breaking from behind the clouds. "Hey, there you are."

Mycroft strode towards his lover, took his outstretched hand, and kissed him. It was _not_ a chaste kiss. His emotions bled into the kiss making it an all-out-I'm-so-glad-you're-okay-I-might-just-strangle-you-for-worrying-me snog.

"I _told_ you Uncle Greg was getting married!" Nichole cried, while her sibling squealed at the very public display of affection.

Mycroft pulled back, keeping Gregory's hand tightly in his own. He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, the faintest flush spreading across his cheeks.

The other adults in the room smiled indulgently while the children carried on.

"I want to be a groomsmaid!" Nichole continued.

"They don't have those," Katherine observed.

"Well they should," Alexander decided.

Mycroft finally managed to meet the Detective Inspector's eyes. "I am very glad to see you, Gregory."

Greg smiled and brought Mycroft's hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I'm glad to see you too."

Sherlock snorted with derisive. "As if you could have stopped him! My brother would have marshaled every special unit in the entire United Kingdom if that was what it took to get to you."

Alexander tipped his head to one side, looking thoughtful. "Isn't that a waste of resources?"

Sarah smiled warmly down are her son, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Sweetheart, nothing is a waste when it comes to being beside those you love."

Mycroft refused to comment because, naturally, his brother was correct on all counts. He simply nodded politely to Gregory's remarkable sister. Now that they had all met, perhaps they should spend more time together. Mycroft's schedule could make things difficult…but he determined to work something out.

* * *

Greg's fingers trembled slightly as he began buttoning up his shirt. Physical therapy had been more strenuous than he had first anticipated. He had been back to work for a few weeks now, and the lingering pain/stiffness/muscle weakness was expected to slowly dissipate over time. All in all he was very lucky. His only other reminder of that night was a small round scar, close to his heart.

Mycroft, his family…everyone had been very supportive. He hadn't seen this much of his sister and her family in years. However, their lack of contact had more to do with his own preoccupation with his career, and his failed marriage, than anything else. Since the dissolution of his marriage, things had started to take a turn in his life. He felt more present and committed to the important things. It was that very resolve that had lead him to start his relationship with Mycroft. Every day was a reminder not to take anything for granted. _This_ time he walked away with his life, but the bullet had come dangerously close to his heart…

Warm, agile hands slipped around his middle and pulled him back against a now-familiar chest. "Hello, love," Greg murmured, turning his face to nuzzle Mycroft's.

"You look very fetching at the moment, Gregory," Mycroft replied, his breath ghosting over his lover's ear. "However, the dress code does require a fully buttoned shirt." Mycroft's lips brushed the Detective Inspector's neck while his fingers quickly righted the rest of his buttons. Greg leaned back against his lover, and let him work.

They were going out with John, Sherlock, Sarah, her husband, and the Langley children. Everyone but Mycroft was currently waiting for them in the foyer. They'd become a surprisingly tight-knit group over the last two months. Greg was almost concerned about who was running the government, when Mycroft was able to take so much time away. But then, he had no fears that Mycroft would leave important matters unattended. Whether by Mycroft himself, or through one of his agents, Greg was assured that they were all in excellent hands.

Turning the Detective Inspector by his shoulders, Mycroft leaned in for a brief kiss. "Your nieces and nephew have asked, once again, about our impending nuptials."

An embarrassed flush made itself known on Greg's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "I'll talk to them."

Mycroft's answering smile was warm and affectionate. "There won't be any need for that, I hope." A mask of confusion covered Greg's face as Mycroft lifted both his hands, and kissed them. That confusion deepened, and was joined by astonishment, when Mycroft lowered himself to one knee, their hands still intertwined. "Marry me, Gregory, please."

Mycroft was not a hearts and flowers sort of man. He closed himself off from the vast majority of the world, and he had still allowed Greg into his heart. The thought left the Detective Inspector slightly breathless. "Yes, Mycroft, yes."

Coraline's jubilant voice broke the silence several moments later, as she announced to all within hearing distance of her, "They're kissing again!"


End file.
